Saving Grace
by Snapelover11
Summary: Severus Snape struggles to find his way, and redemption, after the war. One shot.


Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling (except Grace, she is mine) No money is being made from this fanfic.

**Saving Grace**

_One Shot_

It was one year, give or take a few months, since everything had happened. No one had been the same when it all had finally come to an end. Just look at Potter. He was bloodied, bruised, broken and almost killed. How he ever survived was a bloody miracle. But of course, that's what he was wasn't he? A bloody miracle. The Chosen One. The Boy Who Lived. Again and again.

Severus Snape finished his third glass of wine. He would have at least three, maybe four more, before he could say he felt "normal."

What was normal about him now?

He was a drunk wizard in a Muggle pub. He was a Death Eater turned spy. A spy who was forced to kill the one who should have been there that night. The one who trusted him. The one who believed in him. The one who was dead at his own hands. Then he turned on the Dark Lord in the end. No one was more confused than he about where his loyalties lay. In the end, his loyalties were to himself and his own arse.

During it all, of course, he was labeled a murderer. Sought by the entire Ministry of Magic's collection of bumbling idiots they called Aurors. They never even got close to him. But Potter did. That thought made Severus Snape take another long drink from his glass.

He looked out of the window of the pub in which he was sitting. He hadn't been back since that night. He had left after it was all over, vowing never to return. The Dark Lord was gone, wasn't he?

Really gone this time.

And with him he had taken his share of people who should have had more life to live. But that's what happens in a war. Severus Snape just couldn't figure out why it was that he survived at all. Those annoying friends of Potter's figured everything out before the end. No doubt he could put a name to the one who was able to put all the pieces together. Granger. How they did it, Merlin only knows. But while they were saving the world, they stumbled across proof of his innocence. Well, as innocent as a murderer can be anyway.

Now, even though the Ministry was not looking for him any longer, he just couldn't call England home anymore. What was he to do now? He could never go back to teaching. Not that he wanted to, anyway. But on the other hand, it had always been a comfortable position. Rooms that were his, house elves at his beck and call, and the young minds that he, every so often, enjoyed tormenting. More often than not, now that he thought about it How he loved to sneer down at first years and solidify his reign as the "evil Potions Master." But of course, that all changed when Dumbledore requested him to take over the much-coveted Defense Against the Dark Arts position. Now that he had time to reflect on it, he snorted into his wine and cursed the former Headmaster once again.

He found himself wandering the streets of Rome by night. After he had drank a bottle and a half of wine, of course. Really, no one made better wine than house elves, but this particular Muggle wine was divine.

During the day, Severus Snape haunted just about anywhere he felt alone. That never lasted long, however. That comfortable feeling was taken from him when he left Hogwarts. Now he felt as if he were searching for an elusive moment of happiness. The kind he thought would come after the war was over.

He had thought he found it one day. He had stumbled into a museum and made his way around looking at what Muggles called art.

Then, he saw it.

An enormous marble statue of _Laocoon and His Sons_. At first he couldn't move. He stood there and held his breath. The man, _Laocoon_, was there in all his naked glory with a look of agony on his face. With him were his two sons. They were battling two snakes. The snakes and the men were intertwined together, locked in a moment of struggle.

How fitting.

The men were so exposed. So human with their nakedness. The snakes were trying to squeeze the very life from them. Contrary to all that anyone might think, Severus Snape now hated snakes. He found himself wishing for the men to win.

For over a month, he spent every day sitting in front of the statue. Every day he noticed something new. One of the snakes had bitten one of the sons today. But the father - Merlin's beard, how he was mighty! He was using every ounce of strength he had to pull the other snake off of him. Fighting for who knows what, Severus watched.

The sunlight in the museum reflected onto the statue. As the day passed, shadows appeared and created the illusion of movement. More than once, he found himself holding his breath, waiting for one of the men to cry out. To behead those rotten snakes and be done with it.

But they never did.

He found himself frustrated by _Laocoon_ now. Caught forever in a battle he would never win. darned for eternity to face the snakes. Severus left the museum that day and never returned.

He made is way to Paris. The city of lights. The city of love. He enjoyed more Muggle wine in more Muggle pubs. The people here were less like any other Muggles he had known. He didn't understand their ways at all. The Italians? Yes, they loved food, wine and art. The French? They loved themselves. Perhaps this was where he needed to be after all? A place filled with people so self-absorbed that no one would notice him. A place where he could be self absorbed and not feel guilty about it.

Guilt.

The word echoed in his brain. That horrible monster that made sure he would never forget, ate at him from the inside out.

He needed more wine.

The desire to see the city finally won over and he left his comfortable pubs and dodgy hotel room to venture out into the sunlight. Indeed, no one noticed him at all. He was just another tall, pale, long-haired man walking the streets of Paris.

But where to go? He carried with him a bottle of wine as he wandered the streets. He was amazed and pleased that no one spoke to him. It suited him just fine. He walked and found himself standing in front a beautiful building.

_Musée du Louvre_

Another museum. These Muggles must think every little thing they do should be put up on display. Arrogent, useless people. Nevertheless, he entered the museum. He did not know why really. He did know that he needed something. He stalked about and snarled at the paintings and sculptures set out on small tables, marked by silver plates that named each piece.

Utter rubbish.

He had almost decided to go when he saw a small room to his right. It was darker in there, and his curiosity took control. He stood in the doorway and his breath caught in his chest.

Magnificent.

His heart was beating wildly in his chest as his eyes caressed the statue raised on the platform. He walked closer and felt an unfamiliar sting behind his eyes. He tried to breathe and control himself, but it seemed that the two people locked in love's embrace forevermore had taken his breath. They controlled him now. He walked even closer and searched for a name for his recent discovery.

_Cupid and Psyche._

He didn't notice that someone almost directly behind him was sizing up his reactions. He didn't notice that he was being watched.

Grace came here everyday. Nothing made her feel more at ease than sitting and losing herself in the passionate kiss of _Cupid and Psyche_. Cupid awoke Psyche from a darned eternal sleep with love's kiss. It wasn't the story that she loved. No. That story has been told more than once in children's fairy tales. It was the kiss itself, permanently there for the world to see. The world would never know a kiss as pure and meaningful as theirs'.

Psyche, loosely wrapped in a stretch of cloth, wrapped her arms around Cupid's head as he swooped in to kiss her. It was the way Cupid held Psyche that tore at Grace's heart. One arm lovingly caressed her breast, and the other tilted her head back into the kiss. She was in his complete control. He was the epitome of a strong and sensitive lover.

Grace had never known a kiss like that. Sure, she had kissed a fair few men. But they were always so selfish, too harsh. Never had she experienced such tenderness .

She noticed a man enter the room, his eyes were locked onto her statue. She narrowed her eyes and watched him as he looked as if he might fall over at any moment. He was dirty, not much to look at. But there was something … yes. The way he was watching the legendary lovers made her heart beat loudly in her ears.

He was getting closer to the statue. Is he about to cry? She wondered about his story. A lost love? Broken-hearted? He looked as though he hadn't showered in a week. But, he did look sad. Grace found herself mesmerized by his face that was caught up in a range of emotions as he experienced the kiss of Cupid.

She decided to leave him to his own thoughts. After all, she was here almost every day by herself. She could afford to share her space with someone who so obviously needed some time alone.

Poor guy.

She returned the following day to visit the lovers once again. She entered the room and felt the familiar tug at her heart. She settled down and relaxed for the first time that day. Work had been rather difficult. She was a volunteer who worked with refugees. She worked tirelessly helping them find homes, schools, and new lives. Sometimes, it felt as if she was giving all of herself to those people. She gave back to herself by visiting the lovers everyday.

Something moved in the corner. She chanced a glance over her shoulder and saw him. The man in black was here again today.

Of course he was.

He watched her walk in. He found himself studying her face as her eyes caught the magnificent sculpture. She was drawn to it as much as he was. What was it about something made of stone that can induce such emotions in a person?

He shifted his eyes back to the statue and sank back against the wall.

Every now and again flicking his eyes her way. It felt good to sit here, alone with the lovers. Perhaps she came here for that too. And his presence was interrupting her thoughts?

Why did he care?

He watched her as she tilted her head back and forth, trying to see the statue in a new light. Her expression was hard to read. She was an ordinary Muggle, dressed simply and carefully. Her hair was tied back on the nape of her neck. He found himself wondering what her hair looked like loose, free of the bonds with which she tied it up.

Again … why did he care?

He shook his head and went back to _Cupid and Psyche_.

He was there every day she was. He was becoming a part of her experience. He was a dark angel, broken and alone in the corner of the room. She found herself thinking of him and trying to figure out why it was that he came every day.

Did she really want to know?

No. Not really. He never even made a move to speak to her or to acknowledge her presence. She liked it that way. They sat in silence, floating in their own thoughts and dreams.

She was back again today.

Severus Snape found that he craved this statue of Cupid and Psyche more than ever now. He had found his elusive moment of happiness, in the dark room with a statue.  
How like him to prefer something made of stone to something living and breathing.

Except her …

She was only feet away, directly in front of the lovers. He thought she looked tired today. More than usual. And it suddenly it occurred to him that he was noticing entirely too much about this Muggle woman. He should go.

No.

He couldn't make himself go even if his life depended on it. It wasn't the bottle of wine he had drank so far, for that had its implications, but it was the lovers.

He needed to be here.

So he sighed and sank back against the wall, noticing that when he looked at the statue, he still was able to keep the woman in his sight as well.

He sighed loudly.

Oh, he must be lost in some long-forgotten moment. She had named him her Dark Angel. Never speaking, never moving, really. He just sat and watched.

She found herself thinking about something she had heard in a movie once. Angels were not beautiful creatures. They always had one wing dipped in blood. Would you really want to see an angel? They are forced to kill without discretion or hesitation. Forced to do the bidding of the higher powers. All because they were Angels. Messengers of God. The avengers. The overly romanticized creatures who, when speaking to the people in the Bible, always started out by saying,

"Do not be afraid."

Why would they have to say that, if they were not frightful to behold? So she labeled the man with the long, greasy black hair and the hooked nose as her own Dark Angel.

Weeks went by. Severus Snape found that he came here for the statue … and for her. He had already accepted that. There was something about her that intrigued him. Perhaps the way she didn't feel it necessary to talk to him. Or the blissful, faraway look that crossed her face as she sat in front of the lovers.

No matter what it was, he felt at peace here. He had no desire to leave.

But what he did do on occasion struck even him as odd.

He followed her.

When she left it was almost dark, and he waited a few moments to begin to follow her. He just wanted to watch her walk. He watched her arms swing casually by her sides. Her hair, so neatly wrapped in a knot on her neck didn't move. He let his eyes follow every curve of her back and her backside.

Not bad.

When he saw her disappear into an apartment building, he stood in the shadows and stared. His self-loathing was at an all time high. He was obsessed with a Muggle woman whom he did not know. He told himself he wasn't really doing it.

But he knew he was.

He followed her home every night. He couldn't stop wondering more about her. The way she moved, the way she bit her lower lip as she sat in quiet contemplation. He would always keep a great distance between them. He didn't want to frighten her.

Since when did he not want to frighten someone?

He shook his head and turned around.

Grace was leaving the Louvre a little later than she was used to. She had stayed later because she had a strange feeling about her Dark Angel. He was more restless tonight than normally. She smiled to herself.

He wasn't bad-looking, actually. But she knew people, especially people in turmoil. He didn't want her as a friend. He didn't even want to speak to her. As much as she may wish it, she would not ruin the extraordinary game they were now playing . She found herself imagining all sorts of random things about him.

But that was the game, wasn't it? While they were still strangers, they could be anyone they chose. She could be his Psyche and he could be her Cupid.

She sighed to herself as she walked the narrow streets towards her apartment.  
She realized she was not alone.

She quickened her pace and footsteps quickened behind her. Only the light from the street lamps lit the way every fifty feet. Her footsteps echoed on the wet, cobblestone ground. She felt her heart flutter in her chest as she scanned the streets for someone to come to her aid.

More footsteps behind her. Faster they were coming … they were right behind her.  
She felt herself shoved against a wall and unceremoniously turned around. Three men, all dirty and one toothless, were grinning maniacally at her.

"Donnez-moi de votre argent!" one demanded.

Her money? She was being robbed.

As she fumbled for her purse, one of the men stepped closer to her and began tracing a finger up and down her arm. She was shaking badly at this time, and tried not to show her disgust at his touch. The other came on the other side of her and began sniffing her hair. He grabbed the neat little knot of hair and pulled her head back.

She screamed.

It was a matter of seconds, but she watched everything happen in slow motion.

He had almost decided not to follow her tonight. He had run out of wine, and he needed more. But the thrill he got, in every sense of the word, by watching her leave the solitude of their dark sanctuary in the Louvre was too tantalizing to skip.

So he sped up his pace and scanned the night for her. Where was she? Had she tonight, of all nights, decided to take a different route home? He walked a little further and he heard a scream.

It was her.

He pulled his wand from his pocket and ran. Around the corner, she was pinned by two men, touching her, and another who stood and watched.

Severus Snape aimed a curse at one of the men that had his hands on her. The man with no teeth flew sideways to the ground. He aimed another at the other man, who had let her go to see to his friend, and he was thrown from his feet as well. The third man remained standing, like the idiot that he was, looking after his friends. He hadn't seen Severus approach from behind.

Severus's eyes flicked over Grace who was holding herself up against the wall. She too was thunderstruck at the men who had gone flying, seemingly of their own free will.

They actually flew off of the ground and landed with dull thuds some feet away from her. She couldn't imagine what had done it. She stood, holding onto the wall for support, as she and the third man stared at his friends.

She heard a voice, from the shadows, that called out to her.

"Run home and do not stop for anything!"

She scanned the darkness and didn't see a thing. However, she was not one to question her good fortune. She grabbed her purse and ran. She got about fifty feet away when she slowed down and chanced a look over her shoulder. The third man was being held up, by his throat, by none other than her Dark Angel.

He had saved her.

She felt tears sting her eyes. She longed to go to him and throw her arms around his neck. But she didn't dare. She turned and ran.

Why he did it, he could not say. He had placed the woman on a pedestal in his mind. She was pure, untouched, and his. A fire was awakened within him the moment he saw those filthy Muggle men touching her.

He had done nothing except Stun them. He had lost the thirst to take lives long ago. But he never got tired of knowing first hand how slow and dim-witted Muggles really were.  
He had left them after a rather potent full body bind. He was out of breath and he felt the color flush his cheeks.

Why did he just do that? What did he care?

But he did.

Emotions, long ago lost to him, were found again. He felt as if the blindfolds of guilt and despair had been tossed aside and he saw himself for the first time.

After everything he had done, after every foul thing of which he been accused, he still had the capacity for goodness. He returned to his hotel room and immediately poured out the remaining wine he had. No longer was he going to drink himself into oblivion. If the desire to drink had been any stronger, he would have lost her completely.

But he had been there for her.

He spent the rest of the night awake, rummaging through his things and thinking.

He had saved her.

She paced her apartment, wringing her hands. He had appeared out of nowhere. The very thought brought more questions into her mind. Who was he? What was he? What was she to do now? Could she possibly return to the Louvre tomorrow and pretend all of this didn't happen? Would she return tomorrow at all? Would he? Too many questions were flooding her head.

She needed a drink.

How was it that that man, her Dark Angel, was down that street at that particular time? Was he really her guardian angel? Or was it some weird coincidence? Whatever the answers to the questions that she had, she knew she had to speak to him. But what would she say?

Thanks for saving me - by the way, what were you doing in that dark street right behind me? Have you been following me?

She shook her head. No. Even if he had been following her, she decided that now it didn't matter. What did matter was that he had stepped from the shadows, and lived up to every fantasy she had ever had of him. She could not allow him to disappear into the world with at least telling him thank you, could she?

Yes. She must thank him for saving her. There was still so much she wanted to say to him. Now she was being forced to say it all at once. For she was afraid she would never see him again after they spoke. Especially not after this night.

It took a few more drinks and a hot shower before she planned everything she wanted to say. She sat down with pen and paper and began to write, all the while hoping she would get the chance to give it to him tomorrow.

He sat in his usual place, at the usual time, watching the unusual statue. He still loved it.

Yes. He loved it.

A thought so foreign to him before now that he almost laughed.

The only difference was that today, he was sober. The possibility that she would be too frightened to come was enormous. But for once, he had hope. Hope that she would be there and hope that the road he has traveled thus far was ending.

She was late.

He sat on, hunched in the corner and waited.

She stood outside of the door and caught her breath. She attempted to steady herself before she entered. Slowly and quietly she stepped into the familiar room.

In the corner of her eye stood the statue. And for the first time in months, she did not look at it as she entered. Her eyes were locked on the figure of the man. Her Dark Angel. He sat slumped in the corner, still wearing all black. His hair falling in a greasy curtain around his face. How she longed to go and touch that face.

He looked up.

And for the first time, their eyes met. She felt the earth move under her as her hazel eyes met his coal black orbs. So much pain there. So much suffering. She walked closer to him and he sat up straighter. She didn't know what to say.

In her hands, she held everything she longed to tell him, for she knew words would fail her. The written word could never fail, once it was written.

She handed him the envelope. She took an uneasy breath.

"Thank you," she whispered.

In her mind she was telling him that she loved him. That she wished only good things for him. She longed for the sight of his smiling face. But she knew it wouldn't happen. Not for a long time.

He didn't say anything,. He only nodded. She nodded back and walked away.

He watched her go and he felt his eyes sting, not for the first time in this room. He held the envelope that she gave to him and wondered what it held. He turned towards _Cupid and Psyche_.

He wished them well. For he had to leave them now. He had somewhere he had to be.

Many months went by and Severus Snape carried with him always the letter from Grace.

He had it in his breast pocket the day he returned home.

He returned to face the demons he had left behind and was determined to see them gone. He began teaching again, though he refused the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. He was teaching Potions once more.

Every evening, after grading papers and making himself a drink, he pulled the letter out of his pocket.

Every night he read it.

Perhaps to remind himself, or perhaps to remember. Whatever the reason, he sipped his drink and read the words that changed his life.

_Dearest Angel,  
I have no words to express my undying thanks to you. You saved me from a fate worse than death. You also should know that I cherish the evenings we sat in silence while in the Louvre. Cupid and Psyche are now forever in my heart, more so because of you.  
I hope you find peace to soothe your soul. I hope you find happiness to ease the pain. For whatever wrongs you might have done, you have set them all right when you saved me. The world is more lovely because you are in it. My Dark Angel. I will hold you near my heart for all time.  
With all my love,  
Grace_

He folded the letter and returned it to his breast pocket. He sighed deeply and thanked the powers that be that he was saved. He thanked Grace. His wonderful and amazing Grace. She had led him home.


End file.
